


To Need Your Help

by girlunafraid23



Series: Our Theme Song [4]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Frustration, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-22
Updated: 2013-03-22
Packaged: 2017-12-06 03:40:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/731077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlunafraid23/pseuds/girlunafraid23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Gallagher, what the hell are you doing home? Thought you had a late shift tonight," He said, tossing his jacket over the chair in their room and kicking his shoes off. Ian didn't answer, he only shifted slightly in the bed, covering his head with the covers when Mickey turned the bedside light on.</p><p>Ian is sick, Mickey tries to take care of him & stuff happens. Future fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Need Your Help

**Author's Note:**

> Older Chests by Damien Rice

When Mickey walked into their loft apartment, he saw Ian's shoes by the front door and his jacket thrown on the floor. Ian wasn't the cleanest person around but he usually at least hung his jacket on the coat rack in the front hallway. Plus he was supposed to take an extra shift at the bar tonight, because he took two days off for Mickey's birthday last week.

Mickey wandered through the house aimlessly at first, looking in the kitchen and bathroom, trying to find traces of Ian. He hesitated in front of the bedroom door, already thinking the worst, because that was just how he was. He could feel himself relax though when he opened the door and Ian was laying in bed with all the lights off. Alone.

"Gallagher, what the hell are you doing home? Thought you had a late shift tonight," He said, tossing his jacket over the chair in their room and kicking his shoes off. Ian didn't answer, he only shifted slightly in the bed, covering his head with the covers when Mickey turned the bedside light on.

At first, Mickey figured he was having another bad day. It's been a few years since he was injured and sent home, but that didn't mean the memories disappeared. Whenever Ian had bad days though, he usually told Mickey to fuck off which just made Mickey jump into bed next to him so he wouldn't be alone. So the fact that he wasn't saying anything had him worried.

He turned the bedside light back off and watched as Ian let the covers come back down from over his head. His eyes were closed and when Mickey leaned over him, he saw how badly he was sweating. "Hey, Firecrotch, you okay? I fixed the air conditioning last week, why you sweatin'," He asked, trying to mask his concern a little. He knew Ian hated it when he started freaking out over nothing.

"Just tired," Ian croacked out, sounding as if he hadn't spoken much all day. Maybe he hadn't. Mickey reached out and touched his forehead and almost fliched back by how hot it was. He wiped some of the sweat off his forehead, watching as Ian curled into himself a little more, his mouth parted open slightly. 

Ian hardly ever got sick and the last time he did he was too stubborn to take the medicine the doctors gave him until Mickey practically shoved it down his throat. "Jesus Gallagher, have you moved out of the bed today? You do realize you probably have a fever? You better not bite me when I make you use that fucking thermometer you forced me to buy 'just in case'," Mickey told him, already moving towards the bathroom to grab the first aid kit Ian made him get after a particularly bad bar fight.

When he got back into the room, Ian had turned over on his stomach, hiding his face under the pillow. Mickey knew that he was going to try and avoid getting his temperature taken but Mickey knew how to put up a fight too. "Don't even fucking try it, Gallagher. I will hold you down if I have to, just get it over with," Mickey threatened, already getting ready to do just that.

"No, get the fuck out," Ian whined. Ian was stubborn as hell, especially when he was sick and it drove him crazy. Mickey grabbed his arm, attempting to pull him over but Ian managed to wiggle out of his grip and push his body as close to the wall as he could to get away from him.

Mickey growled at him in frustration, "Christ Gallagher, will you just let me do this? You can sleep after. I have no problem pinning you down and forcing you to. You know I will."

Ian moaned, pulling the covers up closer to him. Mickey waited, a little impatiently for him to say something, because he knew he would eventually. He was still the bigger talker out of the two of them even if he was sick. Finally Ian sighed and turned over to Mickey, "I'm not sitting up."

"Oh yes you fucking are. I'm not going to choke you to death, dumbass," Mickey laughed, sitting down on the bed next to him. Ian didn't move even when he started pulling him up from under his arms and attempting to lean Ian against his body. Of course he was doing all the work as he sat limply in his arms. Then Ian started coughing, his body shaking against Mickey's while he shivered despite how badly he was sweating.

Ian started to squirm away until Mickey tightened his hold on him. "Mick, it's too cold," he moaned, trying to pull the covers up with his eyes tightly closed. Mickey pulled him in closer, holding his arms back while he tried to put the thermometer in his mouth. He almost managed before Ian started having another coughing fit, making Mickey sigh into his hair.

"It will only take a minute, just let me do this and then you can lay down again and I'll give you all the fucking blankets we own. Please," Mickey practically begged him. He hated having to take care of people because he always felt so desperate and helpless. 

He felt Ian nod his head slowly against his shoulder. Mickey leaned him up a little and put the thermometer in his mouth, unsurely. It was one of those electronic ones so it wouldn't take forever and it would beep at him when it got Ian's temperature. Mickey could tell just from the streetlights that Ian was extra pale. 

When the thermometer finally beeped, Mickey grabbed it quickly before Ian had the chance to spit it out. "102.4, are you sure you're cold, Gallagher? You have a fever," He told him as if Ian was stupid. But Ian shrugged away from him, clutching at their comforter and wrapping himself into it tightly. 

Mickey sighed before standing up to put the thermometer away and grab him another blanket. Milkovich's hardly ever got sick and when they did they sure as hell didn't take care of one another, so Mickey was a little clueless as to what to do. He walked back in and heard Ian snoring softly, clinging to the blanket like it might disappear. So he threw the other blanket on top of him and leaned down to wipe his forehead. 

Since they got together, whenever Mickey didn't know what to do about something, he would google it. Maybe that was stupid, but he didn't give a shit because it got him out of a few problems. So he started up the laptop and searched what to do about fevers. 

After reading a few reviews (well skimming), he figured he'd give him ibuprofen and hope it made the fever go down some. He'd wait until Ian woke up on his own though, because he didn't want him to get pissy for waking him up just to shove pills down his throat.

He grabbed some water and the bottle of medicine and went to lay down before Ian got up again. Mickey stripped down to his boxers and laid down next to him with his own blanket. It didn't take him very long to fall asleep; it was always easier to fall asleep with Ian next to him, even when he was snoring and coughing.

"Mickey," He heard Ian moan from next to him. Mickey's eyes fluttered open, turning to look at the clock. He groaned when he saw it was three in the morning, too early for him. But when he looked over, he saw Ian staring up at him with wide eyes, his face practically dripping in sweat. "Mick, it's too cold in here," Ian told him, shivering against Mickey while sneakily trying to steal his blanket.

Mickey shook his head before throwing his arm around his waist, "Too early, Gallagher. Just sleep for a few more hours. I'll give you medicine then." He felt Ian move in closer, his face hiding in the crook of Mickey's neck. Mickey felt his burning forehead pressed against his skin while he pushed his hands under Ian's shirt and let his fingers brush against him.

Ian hummed in content, shuffling as close to Mickey as he could manage, his eyelashes fluttering closed, tickling his neck. Before Mickey could fall back asleep he heard Ian mumble out, "Don't go to work tomorrow."Then just as quickly as he had woken up, he was snoring again. Mickey yawned, tightening his hold on him before promising an, "I won't" and falling back asleep.

When he woke up the second time, Ian was shifting uncomfortably in his sleep. He coughed into Mickey's chest, which was now unpleasantly streaked with his sweat. Mickey couldn't help but curse, before waking him up. "Hey, Gallagher, wake up. You have to take medicine and stop sweating all over me. It's fucking gross," he said, shaking his shoulder. Even though it was gross, he knew he'd let him do it all over again later.

He felt Ian releasing his hold on him and when he opened his eyes, he looked like he hadn't slept in days. Ian licked at his chapped lips, frowning at Mickey for waking him up. But Mickey didn't let him protest instead he sat up and reached for the water and pills on the bedside table. "It will help with the fever, so just take some now and you can sleep some more since you will anyways," He told Ian, trying to make it easy for them.

"Kay," Ian said, after a minute, obviously realizing it was either take them now without a fight or have Mickey force them down like last time which wasn't so fun. Ian shuffled over to the wall and leaned up against it while Mickey handed him some pills and opened the water bottle for him. Ian was able to take the medicine without a problem and then drank half of the bottle before coming up for air. 

Mickey watched him closely while he leaned against the wall, his eyes already shutting. "You still cold," he asked, quietly. 

Ian shook his head a little, "Not so much as before. A little though." With that said, Ian flopped down on the bed again. "Don't make me get up, because I'm not fucking gonna," He told Mickey, his voice muffled by the pillow he was pressed against.

"Yeah, I know. You're even more stubborn when you're sick. If that's fucking possible," Mickey laughed, while Ian turned his head over and smiled weakly at him. "But I'm gonna try and make you eat something later." Ian's smile disappeared altogether when Mickey told him that, which made him laugh louder.

Ian frowned at him, "Fuck you, Mick." Mickey continued to chuckle, pulling himself out of bed and heading towards the door. "Hey, where are you going," Ian said, attempting to pull himself up to look at Mickey.

"I'll be right back, Gallagher. Calm down, I have to call in to work. You're the one who told me not to go today," He reminded him. Ian nodded at him and fell back on the bed, turning on his side to watch Mickey walk out. Even when he was sick, Mickey could feel Ian checking him out which made Mickey shake his head and walk out laughing. Fucking perv.

He rang his boss Benny and told him that Ian was sick and he couldn't make it in today. After Benny went on a rant about how he hated when Mickey didn't come in because most of the other guys 'didn't have a fucking clue what they were doing for Christ sake', he hung up and put some bread in the toaster. Maybe he could convince Ian to eat now. 

As the bread was toasting, he grabbed some orange juice for him and another water bottle for Ian. Ian was watching the door when he walked back in with the toast. Mickey watched him smile but before he could even ask Ian mumbled out, "Breakfast in bed? And they said romance was dead."

Mickey snorted, "As long as you fucking eat it, you can call it whatever you want." Ian sneered a little, but managed to sit up and lean his back up against the headboard. Mickey sat next to him, handing him the water bottle and placing his glass on the table next to the bed. He held the plate up to Ian, letting him take a piece of toast. Ian took the smallest bites he could possibly take but as long as he was attempting that was good enough for Mickey.

"Did you go to work yesterday or did you just let me leave and not tell me you felt like shit," Mickey asked, out of the blue. 

Ian didn't seem surprised by the question as he continued to nibble at the toast like it was actually poison. "I came home after my first shift. Beth said I looked like I was about to pass out and if I threw up on the bar, I'd have to clean it up. So she said I could leave early," Ian told him with a shrug. 

"Why didn't you call me? I could've left early," Mickey pointed out. When they were younger, Mickey tried not to show that he cared about Ian at all by avoiding any phrase that might give him away. Now, he figured that if Ian didn't realize how he felt by now, he was a fucking idiot.

He heard Ian click his tongue the way he did when he was avoiding a question, sometimes. Mickey laughed, "Oh right because you're too fucking stubborn to tell me you're sick and that maybe you might need someone to help you out."

It had been that way since Ian got the honorable discharge. He used to fight with Mickey about helping him when he struggled to get out of bed or up stairs. Ian hated the fact that sometimes he needed help and Mickey hated how stubborn he got about it. 

"I don't always need your help, you know. I'm not fucking incapable of taking care of myself," He spat at Mickey. Mickey rolled his eyes at him and leaned back against the headboard. He could feel Ian glaring from where he sat next to him.

Finally Mickey said in a tired voice, "Are you ever going to fucking realize that I want to help you? Besides, it's not like you don't help me. You're the one who makes sure I don't have any broken bones after a fight and you always force me to let you clean cuts with that shit that stings. You're the one who makes sure the bills are paid on time because I always forget and we probably wouldn't have food in the house if you didn't buy it. We help each other out if you haven't fucking noticed, which you haven't. Stop acting like I'm pitying you or some shit, alright?"

Ian didn't say anything for a while and Mickey didn't look over at him, a little unsure of how he was going to react. But Ian eventually sighed and leaned his head on to Mickey's shoulder. Ian started to mumble against his skin with a defeated voice, "Sorry. It just feels like you did way too much after I came back. I don't want to make you do shit you don't want to and then get sick of me and leave. You're not the only one who worries about people leaving."

"That's the last thing you need to worry about," Mickey told him, his fingers running through Ian's hair. Ian nodded against his shoulder, his lips grazing the skin before muttering, "You don't have to worry either." 

Mickey knew that Ian would probably still be a stubborn jackass, but maybe now he'd let Mickey help without such a fight. Maybe.


End file.
